Quark's Day
by Selena
Summary: The second occupation is over, and everyone has issues. A day in the life of Quark.
1. Breakfast

Timeline: Sixth season. After "A Sacrifice of Angels", before "You Are Cordially Invited.."  
  
Thanks to: Kathy and Mylexie, for beta-reading; Altariel, for inspiring the whole thing.  
  
Author's note: There is just the tiniest crossover B5 crossover here.

* * *

QUARK'S DAY  
  
Certain life-saving experiences notwithstanding, Quark didn't put much value on dreams that didn't feature attractive females, or at least the germ of an idea for profit. He would have been glad to forget the one he had when the computer woke him up as well, but no such luck. The images were still there, and that acid taste in his mouth. It would probably go away in time, he told himself; after all, it had been only two days since the station had been retaken by the Federation. Only two days since Rom had almost died, because his idiot of a brother had to play the hero. Because Odo had decided that he didn't care about lower lifeforms that didn't change shapes or weren't Kira anymore. Because Rom, confounded nuisance that he was, had stuck around on Deep Space Nine to begin with, instead of leaving with his uppity Bajoran wife.  
  
Sharpening his teeth for the day, Quark mentally reviewed the profit and loss situation. He'd have to get rid of much of the kanar, there was no help for that; after all, Garak couldn't be depended upon to drink it all by himself, now that Ziyal was gone. And wasn't that another uplifting thought. Quark had liked Ziyal; she had been utterly lacking in either Bajoran condescension or Cardasssian arrogance, and she had always paid her bill. If she had been Ferengi, he would have bid for one of her body parts, in respect and memory, but Kira had insisted on putting her in the earth somewhere where her remains wouldn't be of use to anyone.  
  
On the bright side of things, getting rid of all the Jem'Hadar and Vorta in favour of Federation people who actually liked to eat, drink and party meant he could more than balance the loss from the superfluous kanar. And it seemed everybody and their accountant wanted to redecorate. Yes. Being part of the free and not so bright once more was definitely a good thing.  
  
On the way to the promenade, Quark saw Odo making his first stroll of the day and considered taking another route to the bar. But no. Such games were for Odo and Kira, who had successfully avoided talking to each other ever since the Founder and her minions had left. Which wasn't a bad state of affairs, and Quark was determined to exploit it; who knew what schemes he could pull as long as the chief of security and the First Officer were too busy brooding at each other to pay attention at an enterprising businessmen? Besides, Kira owed him now. And as the rule said: treat people in your debt like family. Exploit them.  
  
Still, something about this pleasant arrangement made him itch the wrong way. He didn't want to think about the reasons, so he decided to continue on his way to the bar. The light setting was still at night level, and suddenly he wondered why Dukat hadn't insisted on keeping it this way all the time during the second occupation; so much more comfortable for Cardassians. Undoubtedly the Vorta had had other ideas. Thank the Blessed Exchequer Weyoun was gone; poisoners made Quark nervous. In passing, he glanced at Garak's shop, but Garak hadn't reopened yet.  
  
By now, Odo had spotted him. There was a tiny hesitation in his stern figure, which no casual observer would ever have noticed; then the Constable continued on his way. They met shortly before the ground level entrance to the bar.  
  
Quark nodded at him before starting to unseal the door, and Odo curtly nodded back.  
  
"So," Quark asked, unable to resist, "are you going to make those cells of yours more comfortable now? Just to be prepared for the next time you put one of your _friends_ in there? I could fix you up with some good suppliers for cushions, you know."  
  
Odo harrumphed and turned away, which was fine as far as Quark was concerned. If Odo had insulted him back, it would have meant that things were back to normal, and Quark wasn't sure yet he wanted them to be. Not until the nightmares had stopped, at any rate.  
  
Once the doors were unlocked, he started to get all the systems running. Then he mentally started to count. The Dabo girls wouldn't show up until later, but his waiters were expected to start early in the morning, and given the fines for showing up late at work, there might be some extra profit due soon.  
  
He also checked last night's findings again. People always lost something in the bar, and Quark had three categories for all the items the regular cleaning up provided: profitable to return, profitable to keep, and uninteresting. Inevitably, there was yet another toy soldier of O'Brien's and Bashir's among the booty. Why the two of them had insisted on rebuilding their bizarre model almost as soon as they had moved back on the station baffled Quark. Privately, he suspected that one reason why Leeta had given Bashir the brush-off in favour of Rom had been her inability to stand the good doctor's insistence on playing with little men on a regular basis. Leeta was annoying, not stupid.  
  
Far more interesting was someone's silver hair pin, except that it was Jadzia's, and he probably would give it back to her without interest. It had been such a relief to see her alive again, even if The Walking Frown was still at her side. Not that Quark had wished a warrior's death on Worf, exactly, but that was what Worf would want, wasn't it? Feeling the hair pin in his hand, he suddenly wondered what Worf would say if he, Quark, suggested to him they'd try that puppeteer thing again, this time with Jadzia, not with Grilka.  
  
Rom showed up just in time to save Quark from indulging in more suicidal recklessness, his Starfleet engineer's uniform crumpled. Rom had to be the only person able to do that, but of course Rom shouldn't be in that uniform at all.  
  
"A steak, eggs and orange juice," Rom ordered cheerfully, which told you all about his state of sanity as well. He had been taking on the nightshift again to help O'Brien with the enormous repairs necessary, and so at the very least should be exhausted and in a bad mood, even if nothing else would have happened.  
  
"That stuff will kill you one day," Quark muttered, and fixed the order at the replicator so there would be slug juice instead of the orange one. No matter what Rom said, Quark knew very well all the craving for human food was just an act to irritate him.  
  
"No," Rom replied, insufferably cheerful, "not me." Then he dropped his voice for a moment. "Not with you looking out after me, brother."  
  
That, too, was Rom for you. They hadn't really talked about it, either. Not that Quark wanted to. Whatever heroes were supposed to feel in those insane Klingon programms Grilka had liked, and that Worf and Jadzia were so fond of – it couldn't be the numbing sense of panic and disgust he had felt during those last days, but really, if your brother's life was at stake and you were used to the idiot in question, what was there to do but to become insane with the rest of them, down to shooting Dominion guards?  
  
It had been only the second time in his life he had shot at someone, and the first time he was absolutely sure that person died. It couldn't have felt less like an occasion to roar or compose poetry, or whatever else heroes did in the programms he had tried to learn by heart once for Grilka. The only good thing about it had been the relief that at least Rom wouldn't die now, and then Kira had taken over and there had been no chance to feel anything else until all of the Dominion had left.  
  
Quark changed the subject. "Fix that replicator later, will you," he said morosely. "Those Cardassian food programs are taking far too much space now. We need programs that bring profit."  
  
"Yes, brother," Rom replied. "Nog and I have been looking forward to root beer again."  
  
"I didn't mean..." Quark gave it up. It wasn't, after all, as if he couldn't sell root beer to enough other people anyway. 


	2. Break

Being called to Ops for an early chat with Sisko usually meant trouble, but now and then profit as well. Quark could see repairs were still on-going when he arrived; Jadzia, who was busy using some fine-tuning device on her station, winked at him, so he knew it couldn't be too bad. On the other hand, the shape next to Sisko's was Odo's, not Kira's, which meant some of the leverage Quark had wouldn't be useable.  
  
The Captain looked carefully neutral when Quark entered his office. He was sitting behind his desk, fingering his baseball, and not for the first time, Quark wondered what Sisko would have left for Dukat if he had been a tongo player at heart. He couldn't quite see Dukat keeping a tongo wheel around.  
  
There was an aura of constant exhaustion around Sisko these days that hadn't been there before the war started. He moved differently, too, and his public pronouncements tended to sound as if he were taking too many lessons from Kai Winn. Inside his office, though, he was still sharp and to the point.  
  
"Quark," he said, "we are preparing to transfer Dukat to Starfleet Medical."  
  
Quark waited. Sisko looked at Odo, who stood next to the desk, back ram-rod straight as always.  
  
"Several items of his personal property appear to be missing," Odo said tersely.  
  
"Did Dukat complain?" Quark asked, all amazement. "You people are even more generous than I thought with your beaten enemies."  
  
"Major Kira noticed it when she searched his quarters for Ziyal's belongings," Sisko replied, and Quark nearly nodded before catching himself. Of course, he had known that Dukat was in no state to complain about anything right now.  
  
"Damar's quarters look somewhat empty, too," Sisko continued, "at least according to this security report." He pointed towards his desk.  
  
Originally, Quark had planned to make an appropriate noise about the dangers of vandalism and Bajorans expressing their feelings. It wasn't as if anyone could prove anything, and he was pretty sure neither Sisko nor Odo guessed his motive. Which was simple. None of the Cardassians had had time to pack, exactly. But even during the first occupation, when they had had all the time in the world for their withdrawal and had taken what they considered valuable, there had still been leftovers some of them later turned out to be looking for. Quark recognized a market when he saw one, and an opportunity for maintaining contacts. He didn't intend to sell any of those pictures, clothes or cups on the black market, which was probably what Odo suspected. No, he'd keep them in storage, and return them to their rightful, grateful owners for a reasonable finder's fee, unharmed by any damage either angry Bajorans or nosy Federation officials might inflict. The fact he was glad the second occupation was over didn't mean he wanted to be on bad terms with the departed forces. If the last years had proven anything, it was that you never could be sure when they would return.  
  
The plan had been to do the usual thing and go through the old routine of protestations of innocence and stern "if we catch you" warnings with Sisko and Odo, but standing here, Quark suddenly felt sick of it. He had skipped his own breakfast because he wanted to be at the bar in time and because he hadn't felt that hungry, and now his growling stomach was punishing him for it.  
  
"Well," he said, ostensibly to Sisko but looking straight at Odo, "security has been lacking these last months, hasn't it?"  
  
"Not any longer," Odo bit back, and the gravelly voice was coated in the anger Quark felt himself.  
  
The small, clicking noise that came from the Captain's fingers drumming on the table kept him from his next retort.  
  
"Gentlemen," Sisko said. "If you feel the need for a private conversation, then by all means, be my guests. It's not like we have a war going on."  
  
"I never feel the need for private conversations with Quark," Odo said stiffly.  
  
"Guess you're in luck then," Quark returned. "I never felt less like talking to you, either, Constable."  
  
"As I said," Sisko repeated, glaring at both of them, "we have all the time in the world. Now. Quark, the last thing the Federation needs is being accused of pilfering Cardassian goods. We're trying to look different from our enemies."  
  
Quark said nothing. He wasn't about to cave in front of Odo now, and Sisko couldn't prove anything. Besides, he suspected the Captain was going through the motions anyway. So he looked back and passed the time by wondering which of his waiters would try to keep the tips today. Give them three months away from Ferenginar, and they thought they would actually get through with this. The inevitable corruption of life with the Federation.  
  
"Benjamin," said Jadzia's voice from the entrance, "could I borrow Quark for a moment?"  
  
Sisko frowned.  
  
"It's about the wedding," she added, and a reluctant smile tugged at Sisko's mouth. He waved his hand and sighed.  
  
"Off you go," he told Quark. "But let's be clear on this – one complaint in the media, and I'll have Odo search your storage facilities."  
  
Quark forebore mentioning that it was Sisko who was connected to the media, and with great effort, he even surpressed a gloating smile as he passed Odo on his way out. He beamed at Dax as she entered the turbolift with him.  
  
"You'll never end up in the vault of eternal destitution now. Thank you."  
  
"Good for me," she said drily, and, referring to the state one normally had to be in to be condemned to the vault, continued: "Bankruptcy is a bad basic for marriage. But I really wanted to talk to you about the catering."  
  
He couldn't stop his face from falling just the tiniest bit.  
  
"Doesn't the... Worf want one of these Klingon weddings where everyone drinks so much blood wine that they don't care about the food anyway?"  
  
"Actually, I had my bachelor party in mind," Jadzia said and smiled at him. He could see tiny wrinkles crinkling the skin around her eyes, and one or two grey hairs in her dark hair which had not been there before the war. For some reason, probably because of her symbiotic nature, he had always assumed her flawless beauty would be eternal. The discovery that this wasn't true made his throat feel constricted. Impulsively, as they walked towards the bar side by side, he took her hand, which was cool and dry as always, so very different from a Ferengi and, and yet so capable of aquiring and never letting go.  
  
"Jadzia," Quark said impulsively, "don't marry him. Let's run away together."  
  
She didn't laugh or remove her hand, but she continued to smile.  
  
"But I could never come between you and your bar, Quark," she said in that fond, teasing tone she always used with him. "You know you'd never leave it. You two even remained together through another occupation."  
  
"But one day I'll have my own moon," Quark replied, driven by an urgency he barely understood himself. "Why not start searching for one now? This war is so... stupid, Jadzia. It will get the bar destroyed. It will get... people killed," he ended, because at the last moment, he found he couldn't say what he meant.  
  
_It almost got Rom killed. It might get Nog killed. It can get you killed. It made me kill. It's eating at all of us, Jadzia, and there is no profit in handing out parts of yourself until nothing is left.  
_  
But he couldn't say that, not even to her. So instead, he repeated:  
  
"Let's run away together," and even while he spoke, he knew she would never agree. Her smile had vanished, but she still held his hand.  
  
"Tell you what," she said. "Benjamin just got his miracle from the Prophets, but he's not the only one those wormhole aliens talk to, is he? You did tell me you managed to persuade them to change the Nagus back for you. Quark, if you can persuade them to find a universe where I never met Worf and where the Dominion has no hold in the Alpha Quadrant, I'll go with you there."  
  
Then, she gently removed her fingers, one by one, from his hold. He suddenly realized he had a choice there: he could take her words seriously, which was undoubtedly what The Walking Frown would do, or he could pretend they had been jesting all the time, just like they always did. But if he took her seriously, where would that leave him? Not talking with the Prophets again. He had disliked every second of his encounter with them the last time, and that had been before he had known they could wipe out an entire fleet with a thought. Besides, even if by some miracle he could persuade them to find such a universe, what would be stopping them from changing him the way they had devolved the Nagus, so he would fit in there better? He didn't want to be another Quark, one who might equal Rom in idiotic philanthropy. Much as he disliked having bad dreams and watching Jadzia with that stupid Klingon she was wasting herself on, and worrying about who could die next when he should just worry about whether whoever it would be had made any will, he was the only Quark he wanted to be.  
  
"So," he said, "how many people at your party are we talking about?"  
  
"Loads," Jadzia replied, and the familiar sparkle in her gaze almost denied the sadness he had seen there earlier. But he never could forget that for a moment, it had been there. 


	3. Lunch

Lunch found Quark's Bar as it ought to be: packed. With everyone still busy moving back into their quarters and sorting out their luggage, nobody wanted to eat at home, which was fine with Quark. He didn't even begrudge the Replimat being packed as well, or that he had to put up with most of the Klingons, given that the Klingon chef had not yet returned to reopen his restaurant.  
  
Besides, it didn't look as if the Kingons were going to cause trouble. They sat together with Worf, Dax, and the kid that kept dropping things, and did their usual bit of outshouting and outlaughing everyone else in the room, but that was that. When Quark caught a glimpse of Garak entering out of the corner of his eye, he immediately checked on the Klingons again. To his relief, none of them gave Garak another look. Garak, on the other hand, did give the impression of searching for something other than a meal. Reg, one of Quark's Ferengi waiters, had hurried over to him. Judging by the tenseness of Garak's posture and Reg's cringing, it wasn't an amiable encounter, which in itself was unusual for Garak and enough to alarm Quark. Sighing, he went over to sort out his one remaining customer for kanar.  
  
"Now I know overbooking is a valued Ferengi tradition," Garak said when Quark came closer, "but I am afraid I must insist."  
  
His voice carried the usual blend of pleasantry and sarcasm, but the look in the cool blue eyes was distinctly unamused. Reg hurried over to Quark and hastily explained that there was no table booked for Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak.  
  
"As the good Doctor told me the other day he would make the reservations, I rather doubt that," Garak said. "He does have a photographic memory, after all."  
  
He also had not made any reservations for a table, which Quark, who had gone over the lunch bookings in an attempt to cheer himself up after Jadzia had left, was reasonably sure about. But it wouldn't have done to say this out loud. You didn't have to be a spy, an expert in decrypting, or even a security officer to figure out that one, Quark thought. Bashir and Garak had spent less time together before the war as Bashir spent more and more time with Chief O'Brien, but they had kept their lunch appointments till the Federation left the station. Now, Garak clearly wanted to resume the habit, and Bashir obviously had just plain forgotten. And Ziyal wasn't around any longer as an alternative. Quark told himself that it was just because he didn't want someone whom he had once hired as an assassin to get any ideas for taking out his bad mood on innocent barkeepers, and turned on the unfortunate Reg.  
  
"You idiot," he said. "Of course the Doctor had a table booked."  
  
"But..." Reg protested, open-mouthed.  
  
"I'm going to take it out of your salary," Quark hissed and gestured to the table where Jake and Nog were sitting, guzzling vile root beer and happily chatting with each other. "Now tell that nephew of mine that he's supposed to help in times like this, and then prepare the table for Mr. Garak."  
  
Garak gave him a look as Reg shuffled off. Quark shrugged. "Rule of Acquisition 57," he said. "Good customers are as rare as latinum - treasure them. Nog may have been corrupted by Starfleet, but he still knows his rules."  
  
"Young people. You never know," Garak said slowly, as they watched a puzzled Jake and an angry Nog rise and stomp away from the table, "what they forget these days."  
  
Quark spent the next ten minutes checking on other customers, with a call to sickbay placed in between. As he passed Garak's table again with spice pudding in addition to the kanar, Garak surprised him by grasping his wrist after Quark had put down the pudding.  
  
"Sit," he said.  
  
"I'm working," Quark protested.  
  
"After that rather condescending show of pity," Garak said tersely, "you might as well spare one or two minutes of your charming company."  
  
No good deed ever goes unpunished, Quark thought and cursed himself for a fool. He should have known Garak would see through it, and not appreciate the effort. And it wasn't as if Garak's patronage was that important, anyway. In truth, Quark had no idea why he had felt compelled to intervene in order to spare Garak's feelings. It certainly didn't have to do with any sense of kinship, just because watching Jadzia with Worf after the conversation earlier today put him in an odd mood. Still, he sat down.  
  
"I heard some items left by the more recent guests might have found their way into your possession," Garak said.  
  
"You and Captain Sisko both," Quark replied, immediately on his guard. "It still doesn't mean I have them."  
  
This time, the smile on Garak's face actually reached his eyes. "Oh, I would never suggest such a thing," he said. "And I'm sure that even if you had, you would be solely motivated by the desire to return them to their former owners."  
  
"Hm," Quark said.  
  
"Such a noble enterprise would provide a marvellous opportunity to maintain some old friendships," Garak said. "Or to create new ones. After all, disenchantment with the Dominion should be setting in by now."  
  
"If such items were to find their way back to their old owners, I'm sure there would be some conversation," Quark confirmed cautiously. Just then, he saw Odo entering, and stiffened. Odo looked around, but if he hoped or feared to find Kira here, he was sure to be disappointed. Given that there was a safe distance between the replimat and the security office, as opposed to Quark's Bar and the security office, Quark could have told him which one Kira would pick.  
  
Or maybe Odo was here to investigate the same thing Garak was asking about.  
  
Following Quark's gaze, Garak nodded at Odo, who by now must have seen all there was to see, but had not moved.  
  
"The good Constable seems to be out of sorts," he said neutrally. "He hasn't yelled at you yet, and there doesn't appear to be a social engagement waiting for him, either."  
  
"Such a pity," Quark returned, and the renewed bitterness, rising from his stomach, made him long for some Eelwasser. "Not two days ago, he was about to become king of the universe. Must be real tough, being stuck with us lowly mortals again."  
  
Garak's eyeridges shot up, and Quark wished he hadn't said anything. After all, Kira had told everyone what was in the official report; that the female Founder had incapacitated Odo during the time of Rom's sabotage, that this had been the reason why Rom got captured. If it had been anything else, in a time of war between the Federation and the Dominion, Odo might well end up in a prison cell himself for however long it would take for the Dominion to win or the Federation to pull off another miracle and claim victory itself. As angry as he was, Quark didn't want that.  
  
"It must be the fact you didn't water your kanar for once," Garak said, "for I could swear I hear a case of disappointed hero worship."  
  
"I never water my kanar," Quark said, insulted, rose, and deliberately added, "and you should know. Judging by how drunk you were that time when Dr. Bashir had to get you out of my bar."  
  
Garak inclined his head as if to acknowledge a hit. Odo was leaving again, yellow back straight as ever, so Quark felt free to get himself a drink of Eelwasser after all. He could hear the Klingons starting with another song as he was rummaging among the bottles behind the bar and wondered whether he should charge them extra for the headache they were giving him when he spotted Bashir entering, hair uncombed and looking somewhat bedraggled in general. With an impatient gesture, he made a motion towards Garak's table.  
  
Heroes, Quark thought as Bashir made his way towards Garak. Who needed them anyway? 


	4. After Noon

In the early afternoon, all the Starfleet people had usually gone back to their work stations; the clientele mostly consisted of the incoming travelers, Bajorans, and Morn. It was either the time for some profitable calls, or some quick oomox before the serious gambling started. Today, Quark went for the calls. The Federation retaking Terok Nor had changed things on the market, after all; people were actually interested in Federation-related shares again, and Quark never had sold all of his. Moreover, now that Jadzia had entrusted him with the catering for her bachelor party, there were a lot of orders to place. No matter how undeserving he thought Commander Crunchhead was of her, there was no way this party would be anything but perfect.  
  
His establishment's reputation was at stake, after all.  
  
Quark was going through the list of friends of all species she had given him when looking up information about their respective eating habits when Chief O'Brien showed up. In Quark's experience, engineers tended to go in two varieties; gratingly cheerful and babbling stuff that no-one could understand, or surly and with a distinct why-are-you-bothering-me-again air. He had no problems assigning those roles to his brother and O'Brien, in their respective professional capacities. Now O'Brien, off-duty, was perfectly willing to babble, only it was about darts, his kids or whatever new game he and Dr. Bashir had come up with, and Rom, when not busy with some engineering problem, for the longest time rather cringed than spoke up at all, though that had changed in the last year or so. Still, you could usually tell why they were around by their demeanor.  
  
Consequently, when O'Brien marched in briskly and then suddenly started to look unsure and shuffle his feet, Quark got confused. And impatient, since he wanted to continue with the party-planning.  
  
"Anything I can do for you, Chief?" he asked less than graciously.  
  
"It's about my holosuite reservation on Friday," O'Brien said.  
  
"If you want to cancel, it, go ahead," Quark muttered. "There are about a thousand requests waiting in line." Which was true. You'd think that with the Galaxy Class Starfleet vessels and their holodecks, nobody would have missed Quark's holosuites that much, but apparently Starfleet frowned on the use of entertainment programs on ships that were flying battle missions. Not to mention their rather puritanical restrictions on the kind of programs you could run even in peace times. Since all of this meant very busy holosuites and more profit, however, Quark wasn't about to complain.  
  
"Err," O'Brien said, and a faint blush crept up on his cheeks. Uncharitably, Quark thought that redheads needed to have pale skin like Major Kira to carry off that one in a flattering manner. Not that Kira was the blushing type. "I was actually hoping... Quark, I need to book another hour."  
  
Automatically, Quark went into negotiating mode, then told himself in this case it wasn't necessary. He was overbooked as it was for Friday.  
  
"You and Dr. Bashir want to continue fighting the tula berries on Saturday, that's fine by me, though there would be weekend rates," he replied. "But Friday is full."  
  
"Jerries, Quark," O'Brien corrected. "And I don't need the other hour for that. I need another program as well. It's not for Julian, it's for Keiko. She's coming back late on Thursday, and I was planning, you know, on a nice evening. Something special. To show her how I've missed her."  
  
"Well, then use the booking you already have," Quark said, and wondered, not for the first time, why humans still felt the need to wine and dine their females if they were already married. Admittedly he himself had been known to give in to the odd urge and do this for Grilka after their divorce. And while Natima had never married him, they had been a couple for quite some time, during which he still would pay for holoprogramms and flowers. But then, those exceptions only proved the rule. A contract was a contract was a contract. Marriage was a contract. One only needed to look at Rom and Nog's mother Primadora to see how it ended if one allowed the female to constantly renegotiate the contract clauses.  
  
"But that's the Battle of Britain!" O'Brien protested. "Julian and I need to be there."  
  
O'Brien was whipped. On two fronts. And that was putting it charitably.  
  
However, a man whipped was a man ready to be exploited.  
  
"I don't know, Chief," Quark said slowly. "What with all the stress Rom has been under lately, I'm not even sure the holosuites will be able to run smoothly. They really could do with a complete overhaul."  
  
One thing O'Brien decidedly was not, however, was slow or stupid. He caught on immediately.  
  
"I might get there with my team," he said warily. "But we're working double shifts as it is, what with the mess the station is in right now. Next week..."  
  
Quark inspected Jadzia's preliminary guest list again.  
  
"Next week you can book an entire evening for yourself and Mrs. O'Brien," he said absent-mindedly. "I'm sure she'll love it."  
  
"Fine," O'Brien hissed. "Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow."  
  
Quark gave him a toothy grin. "What a coincidence," he said. "I've just remembered that Nog and Jake cancelled their hour on Friday."  
  
If O'Brien felt guilty for costing Nog and Jake their booking, it wasn't enough to make him pull out. He muttered something about Quark not having changed at all during the Occupation, and left. Quark changed the reservations, then called Nog to tell him. Five minutes later, his nephew stormed into the bar.  
  
"That's it," Nog yelled. "Uncle, I'm not your wage slave anymore. I'm a paying customer. You can't do this to me."  
  
In between quoting the appropriate rules to Nog, Quark felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that Nog had been in combat, too, these last months, without any chance to relax around these Starfleet types. In truth, the boy looked older, and not in a good way. When Nog had first returned to the Station from the Academy, his obsession with soldierly rules had bewildered and mystified Rom, but Quark had been reminded of his own first year on a Marauder, of the overeagerness to prove oneself. It had passed. Now, though, there was a grimness in Nog's expression that hadn't to do with playing soldier at all. He didn't want to imagine what the boy had seen.  
  
_You should have stayed here_, Quark thought, and not for the first time. _I'll get my own moon one of these days, and then Rom can have the bar, and you would inherit it from him. Nobody ever expects a barkeeper to play hero. Provided he does what's right and serves his customers well, nobody ever wants to kill a barkeeper. Nobody expects him to kill.  
_  
Unless the world has gone mad, and so have the heroes, another voice in his head, sounding not at all like himself, reminded him. With an effort, he shoved it back and tried to concentrate on the angry young man in front of him. Nog was just in the middle of a rant that would have done his grandmother proud.  
  
"...and I have the same rights as everyone else! And don't think I won't complain to Captain Sisko, because I will, and he will listen to me. He cares about his people."  
  
Sisko undoubtedly would be thrilled to see him again today. He might even allow Odo to do whatever law enforcer harassment Odo had in mind to polish up his tarnished image. Still, it wouldn't do to give in to a younger relative's demands too easily.  
  
"As long as they do what he wants," Quark said, playing for time. "I didn't see him do anything to rescue Jake these last months."  
  
"That's low, Uncle," Nog returned, obviously even more indignant on his idol's behalf. "Jake made his own decision to stay here. The Captain couldn't risk endangering everyone's lives to retrieve one civilian."  
  
All of which was quite true, and Quark wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't needed to save face by some more conversation before telling Nog he'd get his holosuite hour after all, but now that the words were spoken, he felt compelled to follow them up. Jake had spent most of his time at the bar during the second occupation, interviewing people, hanging out with Kira, or helping out as a waiter, and that had given Quark more than enough opportunity to observe him. Most of the time, Jake had been lonely and scared, and not that good at hiding it behind what youthful bravado he could muster.  
  
"Maybe," Quark said tersely. "But I can tell you this, nephew – there is no way I'd leave a member of _my_ family in the hands of the Dominion."  
  
"Not if you could sell us to them for a profit first," Nog said heatedly, and the bitterness and conviction in his words stunned Quark. For the first time today, he felt at a complete loss of words, and not as a means of playing for time, or outbluffing an opponent. Surely Nog couldn't really believe that?  
  
They looked at each other, and Quark could see the resentment of a lifetime burning in Nog's gaze. He couldn't understand it. Yes, he had been a good Ferengi and exploited both Rom and Nog, but that hadn't been just about profit. It had been to take care of them, the way his father Keldar had never managed to take care of Quark and Rom. Nobody was ever going to taunt his family about their head being a philanthropic failure, oh no.  
  
"You and Jake can use the holosuite on Friday," Quark said, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just two hours later."  
  
He'd have to cancel Morn's booking for this, which was always his last resort, but one he had been planning to use anyway. After some negotiating, as a Ferengi should. Obviously, Nog didn't remember any longer what Ferengi did in such situations. Or if he did, he had brought out a negotiation ploy that he never should have used.  
  
Nog looked at him, silently, obviously still waiting for something else. If it was for some ridiculous human-style declaration of sentiment, he was waiting in vain. If Nog didn't understand by now how Quark felt about his family, he never would.  
  
"Don't you have work to do?" Quark said finally.  
  
Nog nodded, still silent, and left. With a grimace, Quark poured himself a Somerian Sun Spot, but the drink failed to work its magic, or maybe there was something wrong with his taste buds. He couldn't taste anything at all. He decided to get all disagreeable things over with at once, and readied himself to tell Morn about the change of plans for Friday night. As it turned out, Morn was in the middle of a vivid conversation with a richly dressed stranger. Or rather, the stranger was talking, with wide, expansive gestures, but judging by Morn's fascinated expression, Morn didn't want to miss a word.  
  
Maybe the bad news could wait, after all. Quark shrugged, and went back to ordering items for Jadzia's bachelor party. 


	5. Tea Time

As the afternoon drew to a close, Morn and his newfound friend had moved on to the Dabo table where Morn was busy teaching the stranger the game. Quark still hadn't told Morn about his cancelled holosuite reservation, and now would be a worse time than ever. After all, the newcomer looked as if he could afford considerable sums at Quark's, and judging by the way he and Morn were busy chatting up the Dabo girls, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It would be a shame to interrupt that with evidence that the finest bar in the quadrant sometimes disappointed its loyal customers.  
  
Quark had just ordered some tooth grubs from the replimat when the computer told him there was a call from Ferenginar waiting. It turned out to be Moogie, dressed in even more ridiculous clothes than the last time, glaring at him, so that fitted in fine with the rest of his day.  
  
"Where is Rom?" she said angrily.  
  
"Oh, hello, Mother," Quark replied sourly. "It is good to see you, too. So nice of you to call and ask how I am."  
  
"Quark," Ishka said impatiently, "first you nearly worry us to death by telling Zek Rom is scheduled for execution and that Zek has to petition the Dominion for mercy at once, and then, when we are all set to come to that dreadful station of yours to rescue him, there is just one sorry little note from you saying that it's not necessary anymore because the Federation is back.. And no more explanations, or a call from Rom. This is not like him. The poor boy must still be in a terrible state of shock, and you should be at his side, taking care of him. Not that I'm surprised you are not. I bet it's your fault that he got into this situation to begin with. Rom is the most peaceful soul imaginable, but you..."  
  
"Rom is busy repairing things, or getting oomox from his wife," Quark interrupted her, teeth gritted. He was not going to get into another shouting match with her. "Why didn't you have your call directed to his quarters when you wanted to talk to him?"  
  
"Because I thought that for once in your life, you'd behave like a responsible older brother," Ishka returned sharply. Something in Quark snapped, and he cancelled the connection. Then he turned around and exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear: "I wish I was an orphan!"  
  
Most of the guests ignored him; only a few looked up, startled, and shrugged. The waiters went on with their business, since they knew what was good for them. Only Dr. Bashir, who had just arrived, commented, brows knit together.  
  
"Believe me, I know the feeling," he said. "Is it anything you want to talk about, Quark?"  
  
"No," Quark said morosely. Bashir looked relieved. It was odd to see him on his own, without O'Brien, or Garak, or Dax. Bashir was one of these humans who seemed to have an invisible sign tattoed on their forehead that said "_Desperately Seeking Company; Will Provide Any Service To Get It_". He wasn't quite the same youthful chatterbox who had arrived on the station years ago, but his incapability of remaining on his own for more than five minutes was still there. Since sociable people were what his establishment thrived on, Quark wasn't about to complain. He just wished Bashir had brought someone along and wouldn't direct that sociability at him when he clearly wasn't in the mood. But those were the members of the Federation for you. They thrived on "sharing feelings".  
  
With a pang, Quark recalled that the Cardassians were completely without that pesky habit.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for calling me earlier today," the Doctor said, brown eyes all earnest eagerness. "It must have been being back with all this chaos here - I really had forgotten."  
  
Because the day had been wearing at him, because he was unusually tired when the night hadn't even started, and because he was pretty sure Moogie would find an awful way to make him apologize for cancelling the connection, with or without involving the Grand Nagus, Quark muttered: "Figures. We all forget stuff we've already traded in."  
  
Bashir first looked confused, then outraged.  
  
"What," he asked slowly, every word as precise as a knife, "do you mean by that?"  
  
Very well. Bashir had just volunteered to be the recipient of Quark's bad mood.  
  
"Oh, Doctor, we all understand," Quark said, gathering steam as he went on. "Why still continue to hang out with the lowlives if you've found more exalted company? Nobody keeps bothering with damaged goods when he's found shiny new ones, that's how it goes, everyone knows that. And hey, if some of them break while you play darts or link or marry, _who cares_?"  
  
He was expecting Bashir to jump up or at the very least respond with a heated burst of indignation. Instead, the Doctor went suddenly still. He, too, had lines in his face which hadn't previously been there. He had lost even more weight during the recent months, and he had been skinny to begin with. Suddenly Quark could see what Bashir would look like as an old man, when the Doctor with his foolhardy derring-do would have been his own personal bet for first station crew member to die in the past.  
  
"We're not talking about me at all, are we?" Bashir asked softly. There was an unbelievable and most insulting undertone of pity in his voice.  
  
"Well, I certainly was," Quark said, irritated beyond endurance.  
  
Bashir opened his mouth, but whatever words of wisdom the Doctor doubtlessly imagined Quark needed to hear remained unspoken when Kira entered the bar in her usual, brisk fashion, making her way directly to the object of her destination, which turned out to be none other than Quark himself. Quark had never been so glad to see the Major.  
  
"Look," Kira said, "I still owe you. But if you've got anything of Ziyal's and intend to fleece it to the next slimy customer of yours, that won't stop me from going after your wretched Ferengi hide. Are we clear?"  
  
"I haven't got anything of Ziyal's," Quark said, which happened to be the truth. For one thing, he had known better, being very sure that Kira would have any item belonging to the dead girl memorized, and for another, he was fairly certain that Dukat would tear him to pieces if in some hypothetic future when the Gul was free once more he offered to trade something belonging to his dead daughter.  
  
Kira looked uncertain, which might or might not have to do with the fact she believed him and must be finding this to be a new and unpleasant sensation. Half out of spite and half out of an odd sense of sympathy, Quark decided to rub it in.  
  
"Except for one thing," he continued, "which she gave to me."  
  
Upon Kira's sceptical expression, he produced the small sketch Ziyal had handed him one evening when he had made her laugh in the middle of her brooding about her father and Kira and the division of loyalties those two caused in her. It showed the bar, not as it had been at the time, full of Cardassians and Jem'Hadar, but as it had been in the past, including a fairly good likeness of Quark himself, busy pouring in something for Morn, though Quark always thought that Ziyal had underestimated the size of his lobes. In the right corner of the sketch, she had written, in Bajoran letters but using Cardassian words "_To Quark - with thanks_".  
  
Kira's expression softened when she saw this. She swallowed and sighed.  
  
"She was so talented," she said, sounding so lost that Quark almost felt sorry. Almost. He had hoped it would take Kira some more days to start bullying him again in her usual fashion.  
  
Bashir tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, and Kira remained still for a while. Which was probably the reason why Quark heard, despite all the other usual noise of the bar, that slightly swishy sound Odo made when transforming. He whipped his head around, just in time to notice that the Aldovian Bear-hunter who had hung around near the entrance of the bar wasn't there anymore and had been replaced by the Constable, who stared in their direction with the usual uncomfortable expression which would have indicated a sick stomach with most other people but for Odo passed for a lovelorn look, since Kira was the one to evoke it.  
  
If Kira noticed his presence, she didn't show.  
  
"Well," she said to Quark, going for a business-like tone again, "of course you can keep this."  
  
_I'm dazzled by your generosity_, he thought, but said out loud: "And who gets to keep her other stuff? You or Dukat?"  
  
Kira pressed her lips together. "Dukat isn't in a position to keep anything anymore," she said curtly, nodded at Bashir and turned to leave. Discovering Odo made her falter in her steps for exactly a second. Then she passed him withhout as much as another glimpse. Odo's sick stomach expression deepened.  
  
"Some people are just the soul of forgiveness," Quark said, and didn't know himself whether he meant that in a gloating or disapproving manner. One of Bashir's eyebrows climbed upwards.  
  
"Aren't they, just," he confirmed, looking rather pointedly from Odo to Quark and back.  
  
Quark decided it was just as well that Bashir didn't spend so much time with Garak anymore. The Doctor had picked up enough sarcasm as it was.  
  
"Dabo!" shouted the deep, strongly accented voice from Morn's new friend, and with a sigh of relief, Quark turned towards the gambling area to check on the state of his business.  
  
Deciding whether new gamblers were the cheating kind was so easy compared with other things, after all. 


	6. Dinner

Dinner brought even more guests into the bar than there had been at lunch. Which would have cancelled newcomers out, except that the richly dressed stranger managed to hit it off with Jadzia from the moment she arrived after work, and had charmed her into offering him and Morn seats at the table she had booked for herself and Worf. By the time Worf arrived, back from taking the Defiant to look for any lingering Dominion scouts in the immediate area and over-doing the job with his usual dutiful thoroughness, she and the alien were busy setting up a poker game in the middle of half- eaten dishes. Judging by the manner Worf glowered throughout the first round, this did not sit well with her intended. Quark didn't even make the effort to feel bad about it.  
  
"Let me guess," he said when Worf stalked towards the bar and ordered more prune juice, "another old friend of Curzon's?"  
  
"His hair is ridiculous," Worf growled, which had nothing to do with anything. "And he has no honour." Then he took a deep breath, and fixed his angry gaze on Quark. "Ferengi," he said stiffly, "I wish to enter into an arrangement with you."  
  
Now that was surprising, to put it mildly.  
  
"Oh?" said Quark, resisting mentioning that since he addressed Worf as "Commander" and not "Klingon", Worf's approach at opening negotiations could bear improvement, but then, what about Worf couldn't?  
  
"My parents - my human parents - will be unable to attend the wedding," Worf rumbled. "This is a grievous disappointment to my mother. Therefore, I want to order a holorecording."  
  
"Sounds like a plan to me," Quark said agreeably. "Of course, it also sounds expensive. How much is Martok paying you these days?"  
  
"It should be your honour to provide your services for free, as you claim to be Jadzia's friend," Worf said, reaching for moral indignation but not quite succeeding, as far as Quark was concerned. He smiled, showing all his teeth.  
  
"But this isn't for Jadzia," he replied. "It's for you, right? Of course, if you want to put yourself in my debt..."  
  
"You will be paid," Worf said hastily. They haggled for a while about the exact price, but Quark knew very well that no one else on DS9 had the equipment to make a holorecording right now, and with the war going on, it wasn't as if supplies were easily available. In the end, he got what he wanted, though he had the uncomfortable suspicion that once Jadzia found out about it, she would go behind Worf's back and reopen negotiations. He still owed her from their last tongo game.  
  
Watching her laugh with the stranger, he couldn't resist needling Worf a bit more. "So, did you look up Trill rituals yet?" he asked.  
  
Worf, who had also watched Jadzia, looked annoyed, then amazed.  
  
"Come on," Quark said, getting into the swing of things. "She's ready to do all this Klingon stuff for you. Surely you can show some respect for Trill customs. Tell me you'll at least do the _Hereto'An_. I mean, most of the people shouldn't be that hard to find."  
  
"I have never heard of such a ritual," Worf declared, but you could see the grinding wheels turning behind the furrowed brow. No, he definitely hadn't looked up Trill rituals, which was just as well, since Quark hadn't, either. But Worf was such an easy mark tonight. "Yet... you do have a point," Worf continued, grudgingly. "It is only fitting that I honour Jadzia's heritage as she honours mine. What does this _Hereto'An_ entail?"  
  
Under the pretext of needing to clean some glasses, Quark cautiously went a few steps away, out of Worf's immediate arm reach, before replying.  
  
"Well, the bridegroom gets to interview all the lovers of the bride he can find and asks them about the things that please her most. So he can truly be prepared for..."  
  
Worf was fast, one had to give him that. Despite Quark's precaution, he found himself dangling above the floor, his throat in immediate danger of being crushed by Worf's hands.  
  
"This is _not _a good day for you to die, Ferengi," Worf hissed.  
  
Quark couldn't have agreed more, but he wasn't in a position to speak. Not that he was seriously worried about his life to begin with. Starfleet frowned on that sort of thing. On the other hand, Worf could end up sending him to the infirmary with some crushed ribs, and the thought of lying there, where Bashir had only recently done his autopsies on Ziyal and all the other dead bodies that were there after the siege, was stomach turning.  
  
"Let him down, Commander," said a familiar gravelly voice, and Quark could breathe again. "The direct approach seldom works with Quark."  
  
Quark massaged his throat while Worf gave him a disgusted look and stomped back to the table where Jadzia sat, blissfully unaware and chatting with Morn and the stranger. When he trusted his voice again, he said, his eyes still on Jadzia instead of Odo:  
  
"I suppose you expect thanks now."  
  
"Spare me," Odo replied. "But you could enlighten me on the extent of your stupidity. Where is the profit in provoking Worf, Quark?"  
  
"What do you care?" Quark shot back. Since this normally would have been just the opening salvo, both of them waited, but Odo didn't go for the obvious pontificating about his duties to keep order. The sudden silence felt extremely awkward. Finally, Quark did turn around. Odo had his arms folded and looked down on him, his unfinished face striving for puzzlement. Quark drew another shuddering breath.  
  
"No, really," he said, "what do you care? I mean, believe it or not, I get the Changeling thing. I'm a Ferengi, and I'm proud of it. If I got stuck with only you lot the entire time and suddenly another Ferengi showed up to deal with, I'd feel like they let me into the Divine Treasury, too. But you see, Odo, you have to bid to get in there. You have to know what you're willing to bargain with. What your assets are."  
  
"Is there a point to this?" Odo said, without moving, and Quark suddenly wondered whether Garak still had that device one could use to interrogate shapeshifters with. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Garak the entire afternoon, and that was odd, because Garak had wanted something from him and they hadn't had the chance to finish their conversation. But now was not the time to get sidetracked. If Odo wanted to have it out, well, why not. Perhaps then he would be able to sleep without dreams at last.  
  
"Rom could have died," Quark said quietly. "He would have died, if the Dominion hadn't locked up Kira as well. And there's _no_ way I would have bargained with that, Odo."  
  
He waited for the mocking rejoinder, for Odo to say something along the lines of Nog's angry words earlier today, about Ferengi and their willingness to do anything for a price. But Odo said none of this. Instead, he said softly:  
  
"Perhaps... we are even less alike... than I had thought."  
  
Something hard and chocking in Quark's throat, more choking than Worf's fist had ever been, started to dissolve, very slowly, yet unmistakably. This was as close as Odo would get to an apology, and it was an acknowledgement that what he had done had been wrong. It wouldn't do to dwell on it, though; it never did. The occupation was over, after all, and perhaps it was really possible to begin anew.  
  
"You bet," Quark said neutrally.  
  
"Not," Odo declared in his most dignified manner, "in your establishment. I had three reports complaining that there is even more cheating going on than usual today. Where is this Mollari person?"  
  
Quark pointed towards Jadzia's table, and was stupefied. The stranger was gone. Considering that the man had appeared to be utterly incapable of doing anything quietly throughout the entire afternoon and evening, it was extremely unlikely that he had just slipped out. Besides, Jadzia, Morn and Worf looked as confused and curious as Quark felt. If the bar hadn't had a security shielding against transporter beams, this would be a tad more explicable, but as it was...  
  
"Your transporter barrier must have been broken," Odo said, obviously thinking along the same lines. This didn't look good at all. Quark hastened to check on his safe, but its contents were all present and accounted for. Once he had made sure of this, he returned to the bar, only to find the newly arrived Chief O'Brien in the middle of everyone's attention.  
  
"...and that was when I realized that we had registered something similar before," he said. "Whenever one of those blokes from the other universe crossed over."  
  
Bashir whistled. "So that was where he came from?"  
  
"Not exactly," O'Brien said. "It wasn't quite the same frequency. Must have been yet another universe, if you ask me. Also, the method appeared to have been relying on balance - someone of our universe had to switch over to theirs at the same time."  
  
"Do we know who?" Jadzia asked.  
  
Given that he had been wondering about Garak's disappearance himself, Quark had a pretty good idea. He also knew that he wouldn't see any of the stranger's winnings again, and hadn't Odo mentioned cheating, in the plural form? He had spotted the bit with the Dabo wheel and some appendage, but nothing else. Clearly, he was the injured party, and true to form, nobody was paying attention to their exploited host.  
  
"...and when Garak materialized in Ops, I figured I had solved the problem," O'Brien went on. Ah well. Considering that he was going to give all the holosuites an overhaul tomorrow, he was probably entitled to the balm of public admiration today. As Worf and Odo conferred about whether this entire episode should be considered as a threat to station security, Quark used the opportunity to return Jadzia's silver pin to her. It wouldn't do for the thing to remain languishing in his safe, after all, when it looked much prettier in her hair.  
  
"Thank you," she said, smiling at him, and used the sleight of hand abilities she had inherited from Tobin Dax to pull out something from his left ear while she was holding the pin in her other hand.  
  
"You know I hate it when you do that," Quark muttered, and she shook her head.  
  
"No, you don't. Look at it. Shouldn't that be in your safe? It's not like the owner will return any time soon."  
  
He looked. It was delicately crafted brooch with a rich red jewel in its centre, and after a heartbeat, he recognized it as something the stranger had worn.  
  
"Yes, it should be," he confirmed, returning her smile, and pocketed the brooch, unnoticed by either Worf or Odo. The strange sensation of lessening weight the conversation with Odo had left him with spread through his body, and he suddenly realized he felt happy, in a fashion. Maybe she would marry Worf soon, but there was a part of her, the part that gambled and flirted and pilfered, which the Klingon would never have, or understand.  
  
After locking the brooch away, Quark returned his bar, determined to end the evening on a cheerful note. He even considered telling Leeta to finish her shift on the Dabo wheel early, so she could be with Rom.  
  
And then he saw Morn, who had returned to his usual seat at the bar. Poor, companionless Morn, looking at him with those expressive eyes of his which just asked for another drink. Morn, who still hadn't been told about the impending sacrifice he was going to make for the general harmony in the universe in general, and Quark's Bar in particular. Surely, Morn would take it well. Surely, Morn would not get upset, and accusatory. Not him.  
  
"Morn," Quark said, clearing his throat which suddenly felt swollen again, "there is something I've been meaning to tell you..." 


End file.
